


Realisation, Understanding, Peace

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Angst, Asexuality, Fluff, M/M, Pharoga - Freeform, Sexuality, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: For as long as Erik can remember caring about such things, he has thought there was a part of him missing. To discover that he is not alone, that there are other people like him, is more than he ever expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr anon who asked me to expand on my own sense of Erik being ace/grey-ace.

For years he thought he was defective. In truth, would anyone wonder over it? Someone like…well, like _him_ it might almost be expected that things would not be how they ought to be. He chalked it down as one more thing forbidden him, like walking in public without his mask on, and permitted himself to think no further on the matter.

  
Besides, nobody could ever look at  _him_  in that manner, and so it would not matter if he were defective or not. The issue itself would never arise.

He has contemplated the issue in theory. Naturally, he has. How could he not have? He has contemplated and found that in theory he is not averse to it as a concept. As soon as he applies that theory to himself, though, the matter swiftly changes.

(His stomach churns at the very thought, which is truly the opposite to what he ought to feel with the concept in question.)

It was Karim who suggested, in his calm, gentle way, that it might be normal, that he might not be the only one. He had been reading, he said, something in a magazine somewhere, and perhaps it might be a good idea to investigate further. 

They sat all night on the couch, leaned into each other, the laptop propped between them. And when at last Karim dozed off, Erik sat and read page after page after page.

And realised, with hardly a question, that there is a name for him, for what he is.

Asexual.

He shut down the laptop lid, and with tears prickling his eyes buried his face in Karim’s hair, and breathed him in.

(His heart has always fluttered for Karim, craving to be close to him even without being so in that sense. And Karim understands, has _always_ understood, that Erik is different than he is. If anyone were to understand it would be Karim. They have simply been through too much together for anything else.)

“Thank you,” he breathed into the night. “Thank you.”  
The precise nature of their relationship is one that it took them a little while to figure out. They were more than friends, knew that for a long time. And with a name for what he is, after forty years of not fitting, it is easier. Karim does not push. Karim lets him set his own boundaries. There are kisses. Soft kisses, gentle kisses. There are soothing, easy touches. There are two bodies pressed together, existing in the same space. And Karim does not ask for more than that, has no desire to pressure Erik.

It was like that before, too, before they knew. But it is different now, easier to fit together. And Erik feels safe, folded in Karim’s arms, and safety is not something he is used to. It is very nearly frightening, to be held so close and exchange barely-perceptible murmurs, but Erik swallows the beating of his heart that has taught him to run, and smiles against Karim’s neck. Deep down he longs to trace him, to map him and learn him, to make love to him without having sex with him.

And sometimes, a rare flash of that desire flickers in his gut then melts away. He is uncertain of it, uncertain of just what it means for him, and he keeps it a secret from Karim though he contemplates it in late nights and early mornings, his fingers pressed lightly to the keys of his piano.  _Maybe_ , he thinks,  _maybe it means that I_  could  _feel that sometime_. The question of maybe is one that he finds does not trouble him wholly. It soothes the…the twisting guilt that while Karim can be what he needs – endlessly understanding and gentle – he cannot be the lover that Karim deserves.

(Karim, for what it’s worth, says that such guilt is foolish.  _It’s just how you are_ , he says, and squeezes Erik’s hand, smiling his soft smile.  _Don’t try to force something that’s not there. You’re perfect just like this._  (It was on the tip of Erik’s tongue to take issue with that on a number of levels, not least his past and his face, but Karim kissed him then and all thoughts fled.)) 

But it is enough, for things to be like this. To be gentle, and tender, and slow. And if he never worked up the desire for more, he knows, it would not matter. He has Karim, and they have this, and it is perfect and perfectly right.


End file.
